


We Found Love

by latinaeinstein (oneforyourfire)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 07:19:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17463086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/latinaeinstein
Summary: And it's on Joonmyun to distract him. Reroute the anger, replace it.





	We Found Love

**Author's Note:**

> 2015 fic
> 
> dads get frisky at their son's baseball game au
> 
> additional warnings for suho/sojin, broken! lu/eunji, sojin/kyungsoo, eunji/sandeul

The weather is balmy, sun stifling, and Joonmyun can feel the lingering kiss of summer on his collarbone, his throat, as he swallows another heavy gulp of water. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, uses his baseball cap to fan at his face, as he squints out into the field for his son. They aren't due out for another 15 minutes, but Sehun always makes a point of coming out early, waving with a blinding, crinkle-eyed enthusiasm to his parents on the stands.

Not yet, though, apparently. Not yet.

Joonmyun's seated a respectful distance from Sojin and her new boyfriend, spares them a glance as he waits.

And there's still something the pang of something, the dullest sort of ache, for what that they once had. What they once killed.

Sundressed, sunhatted, sunscreeend, too beautiful Joonmyun thinks, has always thought. Way too beautiful to be real, to have been his. Beautiful, good enough for him to have tried harder. For them both to have—

Joonmyun takes another swig from his water bottle, squeezes the plastic cap hard in his fist. He swallows down that fleeting concern. He's moved on. She has, too. They're all better in the aftermath. Better for this.

The spark, it's dulled. The ache, residual.

Her new boyfriend, his name is Kyungsoo. He's a nice guy. Got a good smile, a good firm handshake, a good head on his shoulders, too. He had shaken his hand the first time they'd met, promised lowly later that he didn't want to replace him. Hoped that they could maybe be friends. They are, maybe, kinda, approaching it. At the very least, very civil.

They email, text periodically, have talked on the phone, too. Kyungsoo had asked beforehand to make sure it was okay for him to the come to Sehun's games. Then later, because he knew it was Sehun's and Joonmyun's _thing_ , if Kyungsoo could help Sehun fill up his baseball card collection. Buy him a new glove. Take Sehun to a Dodgers game.

(Joonmyun had okayed all of his requests)

Joonmyun thinks it's getting serious between them. Sojin and Kyungsoo. Sehun talks about him sometimes on their weekends together. Places that Kyungsoo has taken them, pictures that he's shown him on his phone, knickknacks that he's gotten him, stories that he's told. Sehun used to tense sometimes after relaying a story, like he thought Joonmyun would get mad at him for it, but it's happened enough, Joonmyun's reassured him enough, for Sehun to feel comfortable talking about these things. Talking about his life on Sojin's weeks, his weeks without his dad, the weeks that Kyungsoo inhabits with increasing frequency.

Sojin waves a paper fan in her face, frowning at the sun. And she's beautiful, still. More beautiful now that he doesn't see her everyday.

Kyungsoo reaches out to fix his ex-wife's dress strap, then, presses a smile into her bare shoulder as she swats at his hand, and yeah, it's getting serious. Yeah, that's okay. More than okay. Good. Ideal, actually.

Sehun comes out then, pulls off his helmet, his entire face scrunching in a smile that Joonmyun can just barely make out. Even from this far away. Sehun is facing the sun, can't see. He cups his palm over his face as he scans the crowd. He waves broadly, excitedly.

Sojin screams. Kyungsoo does, too. Joonmyun stands up and waves his arms wildly, grins when Sehun spots him. He's acknowledged with a giant grin. The crinkley one, Joonmyun's favorite kind, even though he can't see all the details from this far away.

Sehun's got his arm looped around Jongin, his best friend. Chewing bubblegum, he blows a comically large pink bubble. _Big League Chew, it's what all the great use, dad, coach says._ And Sehun's been ruining shoelaces, denim shorts, the collar of his shirts, staining them pink with the sticky residue.

Jongin laughs, waves, too. And Sehun thrusts both his thumbs in the air. Joonmyun returns the gesture. Sehun, he's Joonmyun's _star_.

Lu Han comes around that time, steady warmth pressed suddenly to his side.

Joonmyun sits down, then. Lu Han, too. Elbow to elbow, thigh to thigh, pressed tight, heedless of the sticky kiss of summer on their skins. He cheers, too. Loud, too-loud. Always.

They're both on the Soccer Parents Association, the only dads, divorced, disillusioned, desperate. They'd found each other in the aftermath. Understood each other in the aftermath, thoughJoonmyun had been wary at first.

Lu Han kind of has— _had_ —a problem. Is too invested, one of the other moms had said. After, well you know, after—and Joonmyun had also been going through an after, but he was certainly less invested, less _enthusiastic_ , less _vocal_.

Lu Han screams—used to scream—in Mandarin when pissed. Vulgarities, Joonmyun presumed if the way the elderly ladies in the stands jerked and smarted, turning to chide him, if those clues were anything to go by. He curses—cursed—in English, too. But knows—knew—to hiss it instead, the occasional "Fuck that call" and "Bullshit!" Contesting every call, insisting that his son hadn't—no his son hadn't missed that base, what were they even _thinking_? A bad sport, a bad example, he'd made a point of protesting unfair losses, not taking any of the snacks after the game because "fuck your juice boxes, you're a fucking fraud."

It had been everything he'd had at one point, that point in time, Lu Han had confided softly, one night, face glowing blue in the fluorescent bulbs of the nearby pinball machine. He'd lost his home, his family, his sense of purpose, and Jongdae had been all he'd had, then. Jongdae and this love that they'd both shared. Joonmyun had related to that, too. Having lost his sense of footing, sense of self, too, clutching tight at all he'd had. And they'd found each other like that. In that awful, vulnerable in-between. Become something then in that awful, vulnerable in-between, too.

Lu Han, he's gotten better since then. Joonmyun's helped.

They still haven't told anyone. Haven't really put a name to it, either. This exclusive, mutually beneficial thing.

But Lu Han sits beside him now, laces their fingers together in a discreet, warm caress, and Joonmyun's whole body feels full with it, affection swelling, warming him from the inside out. Joonmyun squeezes back, smiles at him. And in his periphery, Lu Han shifts, squints out into the field for his own son.

Jongdae plays short stop, is fucking _lightning_. A sweet kid, too. If not a little too snarky, laughing with his eyes sometimes at the adults, like he's got one over on them. (He usually does).

Jongdae pops his head out, too. Jumpingjacks once, twice, before bowing with a flourish. Lu Han, Eunji, Junghwan, three stands ahead, they all scream. Thrum in excitement, in anticipation.

 

The Aardvarks are the underdogs in this game. Playing at their local high school, they have the home field advantage, but they are ill-matched. And they _know_ it. Crimson Coyotes, as Coach Minseok had divulged, they're the bigtime. Best in their division. So we just gotta give it our all, you guys. Play with dignity, lose with dignity, too if it comes to that.

And Joonmyun's been talking to Sehun on the phone about this a lot, reassuring him that as long as Sehun tries, win or lose, he's always gonna be Joonmyun's #1. His favorite baseball player, yes, even better than Ryu. No matter what, because he knows that Sehun has _heart_ and remember that's what Coach Minseok said was most important.

 

And they do lose—badly. The bitter burn of defeat is familiar, but no less potent. And Joonmyun swallows back the curse bubbling on his tongue as their boys—defeated—shake hands with their opponents, thank them for playing a good game.

It's Jongin's, Chanyeol's, Baekhyun's moms turn to set up the snack tables as the boys change. And Joonmyun watches, tries to school his expression, think of the best words to use.

His face is adequately calm, his smile almost real, Lu Han assures by the time he decides to make his way to the field, make his way towards his son.

 

There's defeat in the slope of his tiny shoulders. He knows it's okay. He knows, and he tells his Dad his knows. Insists that it's not because he's a baby. It's not because he's throwing a tantrum. He's just _sad_. And Dad had said before it was okay to be sad. It was okay to cry, too. Right? It's still okay.

Joonmyun nods, cups his cheek, and Sehun sighs heavily, wetly, eyelashes fluttering rapidly, arms, lip trembling.

He's not going to cry, though. Because he _is_ okay. He gave it his all, just like Dad said. He gave it his all, and he's still Dad's number one. And he's still got heart, and that's why it hurts. He's got heart, and he really did try. And and and—

The bill pulled down tight over his head, Sehun complains about the sun, says it's why his eyes are watery, why his voice is shaky. The sun. Joonmyun pulls his hat off, runs his fingers through Sehun's hair, and his son presses against his stomach.

The shoulders of his uniform are more brown than white, knees and elbows bleeding green from how often he slides across the bases, how bodily he throws himself towards every ball. Sehun's jersey is perpetually dirty because Joonmyun screams the loudest, loud enough for him to hear whenever he does.

There had been a sort of purpose, an awful competion through the worst of it. When it hadn't been so civil, when they'd both been intent on hurting and winning and fucking over, using Sehun and Sehun's love as leverage, making a competition of his homework grades, baseball passes, his lost teeth, favorite books.

And Sehun bears the scars of it in the lingering stains on his baseball uniform. Joonmyun from memories of a Sehun, voice wavery and unsure, asking if he won enough games, would that mean that Dad could come live in their house again.

There's the briefest, but most _potent_ curl of self loathing for that time. Joonmyun stamps that down, too. Forgives himself that ugliness now that he's moved on, become better, apologized to Sehun.

It's not about that now, he knows, anyway. Sehun just loves giving it his all. Just loves trying so _hard_ because he loves the game.

Joonmyun strokes the back of Sehun's head, drags his fingers along his Sehun's scalp, comforting until Sehun relaxes. Deflates. Speaks against Joonmyun's shirt, promising his Dad that he's okay. He really is.

Nearby, Jongdae is crying but trying not to show it. And Joonmyun reaches out to touch his head, too. The boy leans into it, rubs hard at his eyes with his fists, pretends still that he _isn't_ , as he talks about how much sand got in his eyes running that last base. His voice is thick with tears, and Lu Han crouches down, forehead against the crown of Jongdae's head, arm around his shoulder.

He picks that moment to truly start, shoulders shaking with sobs. Lu Han lifts him, pats his back. "It's okay," he keeps saying, and Jongdae nods firmly, wipes fruitlessly at his eyes. "It's okay. You're still my little man. You're still so amazing."

Joonmyun scans the crowd, quickly, sees a repeat of the same situation. Parents comforting, parents reassuring. He catches Sojin's eyes, then. Nods.

It's Sojin's weekend, Sojin's and Kyungsoo's. Eunji's and Junghwan's, too.

With Lu Han at his side, Joonmyun wonders briefly, jealously, what it was like when Eunji was his. When she was in charge of calming him down, kissing him, loving him. But that's an even more fruitless thought.

Eunji, loud, obnoxious, too. Hyperenthusiastic, invested. Beautiful. It's civil with them, too. Lu Han has told him. Civil now. They've had the good fortune of pairing off, finding new people, moving _on_. They've all moved on.

Are moving. Joonmyun hugging Sehun one more time _hard_. Cupping his teary face between his hands and kissing his forehead, reminding him that it's okay. Go with your Mom, it's okay. I love you.

Wins are commermorated with trips the arcade, $5 of quarters per kid. Loses, they're soothed with Thrifty Ice Cream runs. 2 scoops, the boys eating side by side by on the sidewalk by the Rite Aid, sneakers pounding agains the pavement.

It's not Lu Han's, Joonmyun's weekend, though. So they linger behind.

 

There are juice boxes laid out on a picnic table, (oranges, raisins, grapes, crackers, too) and Lu Han squeezes one so hard, it spills pink over his clenched fist. Melodramatic, too invested still, he exhales loudly. Reaches for an apple and munches that angrily while the boys filter out. Cotton candy this time, Sehun decides aloud. Pistachio, Jongdae declares.

And Lu Han isn't his son. He isn't heartbroken, disilusioned, near tears; he's _pissed_. Been quelling it for his son's sake, but Joonmyun can see the set of his jaw, that vein—small and tight—flexing in his temple. Lu Han sighs loudly, curses once more, that fucking _awful_ call.

And it's on Joonmyun to distract him. Reroute the anger, replace it.

He arches a brow, and Lu Han wipes his hand on his shorts, glances left, nods.

 

His fingers are delicate, nimble, even as they close around his wrist, and Joonmyun is urged, wrist-first into the bathroom stall. Slammed back against the wall with a muffled moan.

Lu Han's enthusiasm, volume control issues, they're present in this, too. And Joonmyun groans as Lu Han pants into his mouth, tugs his hair back sharply to deepen the angle, pressing into his mouth with a marked desperation, fervor.

His body, it's pressing, too. Grinding insistently against Joonmyun own, creating the most drugging, urgent friction.

Still angry. He's still so angry. Lu Han is trembling with it, and Joonmyun is laughing, before taking back control, kissing him quiet, pliant, rocking against him as Lu Han gasps.

"We lost," Lu Han groans, pulling away enough to rest his forehead against Joonmyun's. He exhales loudly, heavily. His breath tastes like Coca Cola, lips like chapstick, and Joonmyun reaches up to cup his face, cradling his jawline. Lu Han's face is twisted with anger again, and Joonmyun smooths it away with his thumbs, tilts him back to his lips. Where he belongs. His fingers thread through Lu Han's hair.

"Yes, we really, really did," Joonmyun whispers against mouth, lips and tongue grazing in invitation as he speaks. "We were _slaughtered_ out there."

"It was a bad call," Lu Han manages with a groan. "Jongdae, you saw—totally, totally biased. Must've been paid."

Joonmyun tugs on his soft black strands, and Lu Han groans again, but it's deeper this time, thick with meaning.

Lu Han tils his hips up in invitation, with a breathed _Joonmyun_ , reaches out to cup Joonmyun's face back. And Joonmyun needs no further encouragement, falling immediately to his knees.

Lu Han blinks down at him, lips parted, eyelashes heavy, and he's _beautiful_. (Beautiful because Lu Han is _his_ ). There's really no other word for it. Joonmyun has tried, failed to find other words.

And Joonmyun wants to tell him every time he sees him, but Lu Han always balks at it, squirms at the compliment. Not beautiful, he insists. Stop—stop being cheesy, Joonmyun. Just get back to sucking my dick.

So Joonmyun settles for this, telling him like this.

 

The first time they'd done this, it had been in the bathroom of a Von's during one of their many snack runs, performing their parent duties, using the pooled money to buy generic soda, bargain brand crackers and chips, the cheapest ice cream sandwiches. Always more bang for their buck. They'd started kissing, touching at times, dating—almost, almost. And Joonmyun had been absently licking his lips as he'd contemplated which cookies to pick when Lu Han had _snapped_. Tugged with determination at his wrist, later his pants, his cock, before sucking him into his mouth, overcome he'd later say when watching Joonmyun's eyebrows furrow, lips worry. Overcome and just eager to taste Joonmyun's orgasm.

They'd found something, then, stumbled upon it, between then and now. Found love—maybe—they haven't said that word aloud yet.

The emotional need was met before the physical and romantic was. And it was a natural growth, he thinks, listening to his trouble, holding his hand, kissing his lips, acting on the hotter, deeper desires, too.

It's gotten smoother since, then. Though no less hot, no less passionate. Teasing, always teasing on Joonmyun's end, at least.

Right now. Right now.

 

Joonmyun mouths along his thighs, scrapes his teeth just to hear Lu Han's breath hitch, see him shiver. And Lu Han reaches down to cup his jaw, thumb grazing his cheek. The fabric of his shirt, his shorts whisper agains the ugly green tile.

Joonmyun drags him forward by the belt loops of his cargo shorts, nuzzles against the tent of his erection. Lu Han shivers heavily over him, breathes hard through his mouth.

He works Lu Han's shorts down his legs, kisses his way back up, starting at his knees. Tan skin becomes pale, extra sensitive the higher he goes, and Lu Han is panting, trembling soon enough.

Joonmyun mouths at him through his boxers briefly, too, lips, tongue, fingers dragging over the strained, straining fabric as he hums. And Lu Han is rasping, gasping. Angry still, Joonmyun can tell, but weak. Weak with want. Joonmyun rolls his boxers down, too, bites at the sharp jut of his hipbone as he grazes his fingers against Lu Han's flushed cock. He spits into his palm, drags in a teasing, appraising caress.

And Joonmyun strokes him to full hardness, smiling even as he presses the tip of his tongue to the head of Lu Han's cock. He relishes in the way the flesh jumps, pulses against him.

Lu Han's hand scrambles, bangs loudly against the stall door as he slumps forward with a bitten off curse.

"Still mad?" he whispers against the head of Lu Han's cock, and Lu Han shudders almost violently. Eyebrows puckering in concentration, in pleasure as he nods. Joonmyun licks, tongue swirling, lingering, and Lu Han's thigh tremble against Joonmyun's sides, his palms.

"Still," he insists. "So suck me off."

And he _is_. Angry, still. Joonmyun can read it, behind the burn of arousal. So he does, mouth falling open, dragging forward to take him all the way inside.

Lu Han is thick, salty on his tongue. Joonmyun stretches out his jaw, but suction seals his lips, and Lu Han lets out a soft noise, smothered into his balled up fist. The other, the other is twisting through Joonmyun's hair.

Joonmyun glides forward once, twice, thrice lips catching on the retreat, tongue dragging along the slit in a succulent kiss.

Mandarin, English mix in a low, husky pant that has Joonmyun straining to hear, tongue pressing even harder to increase the volume. Lu Han's hand crashes against Joonmyun's shoulder, steadying as he arches sharply. And it's hot, the way he trembles. Holding back, just barely, barely containing the force.

"Thrust," Joonmyun breathes. Permission. Provocation. " _Fuck_."

Lu Han rises easily to the bait, bucks upwards, and Joonmyun's cock aches.

He's aggressive when he's angry. Aggressive when he lets it show. Eager almost to drown out of the sting of defeat, better for it. Lu Han musses up his hair as he tugs, gains leverage, fucks smoothly into his mouth. And Joonmyun moans loudly, eyelashes fluttering at the heady slide, the heady taste. Full, he's so full.

At the sound, something in Lu Han—something further in Lu Han—snaps. And he thrusts forward _hard_ , has Joonmyun choking on Lu Han's cock, eyelashes clumping together, moaning, moaning, moaning still.

His mouth falls pliant, jaw slack, eyes clenching shut, as Lu Han tugs at his hair, holds him steady.

And Lu Han's loud. So loud. His moans echo off the tiled walls, dizzying and hot, and Joonmyun hardens further, body aching. Aching to be _inside_ of him. Maybe—maybe when they get home tonight.

But right now—right now, it's about the gorgeous way Lu Han stretches his lips, his mouth, looming heavily as he fucks in and out, hard and fast.

Joonmyun's hands drop, from where they're anchored at Lu Han's hips, to paw at his own erection. The heel of his hand presses down hard as Lu Han drives into his mouth. Lu Han's pace erratic, fast, sloppy. Perfect. It's perfect.

One of Lu Han's hands shifts, pets clumsily over his eyebrow as he gasps his name. And Joonmyun's eyes flutter open. He catches Lu Han's own _just_ in time. Oversized, though hooded, glassy with pleasure. And Lu Han comes with a sudden jerk, back bowing, muscles tensing then releasing. He crashes against the tiled wall, spurts hot and salty on Joonmyun's tongue.

Lu Han's panting, shirt, hair askew. His eyelashes flutter heavily against his cheekbones, and his eyes are so wide, his cheeks flushed, lips bitten red.

Beautiful, he's beautiful. So fucking beautiful.

Tugging, Lu Han's tugging him up by the hair, slamming him back against the wall, too, as he crowds into him. He licks his way into his mouth, groans into it. He cups his face with one hand, skates the other down to graze his cock. Then Lu Han's dropping down just for him, falling heavily.

Straight to the point, tugging free, sucking him inside.

Joonmyun's been so hard for so long, that it's almost painful, and he moans loudly, pitches sharply at the tight, wet warmth, the slick, dragging friction. His knees buckle, threaten to given out. He grips hard, grounding himself just in case, fingernails biting into the cotton of Lu Han's shirt as he bucks.

But Lu Han is strong, solid, pressing him back, holding him steady as he gets to work. His mouth is filthy and beautiful for it. His glides are wet, hot, fast, just the _right_ amount of pressure. And one of his hands cradles Joonmyun's balls, drags teasingly, and it's so good. So fucking good.

Drowning in the white hot stimulation, the staggering pleasure, Joonmyun struggles to keep his eyes open. Wants to watch. Lu Han's beautiful like this, too, his dark, heavy, eyes hooded and liquid, hot on his skin, lips heartbreakingly ruddy, stretched wide and perfect over his cock. He's moaning around him. Enjoying this, too.

Lu Han pops off to focus on the crown, lips catching there as his fist twists. It hadn't always been this good, clumsy for them both, as they'd learned what the other liked, but this—this is _perfect_.

And Joonmyun loses himself easily in nimble fingers, a wet mouth, a skilled tongue, Lu Han's marked determination to have Joonmyun coming in time for them to make the Saturday matinee.

Joonmyun's head crashes hard against at wall, muscles locking, sweet sweet sweet, pleasure saturating ever pore. He comes with Lu Han's name high in his throat, collapses into the elder's arms, finds him there, willing, waiting, warm.


End file.
